


Traditions and Meanings

by indiefic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:00:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle's first Christmas in Storybrooke</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traditions and Meanings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diaryofawriter](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=diaryofawriter).



> diaryofawriter’s prompt in the Tumblr Rumbelle Secret Santa: _Belle asks Granny to teach her to knit a gift for Gold_

The day after Thanksgiving, Belle asks Ruby to explain Christmas. Belle learns that Christmas is a religious holiday, though most of the traditions Ruby mentions don’t seem to have any specific religious connotations, or if they did, they’ve been lost somewhere in translation. Santa Claus; flying reindeer - one with a glowing nose; Christmas tree - only a Balsam fir will do apparently; singing carols; decorating; baking; spending time with loved ones - these are the high points that Belle ascertains to be the most important. Oh, and gift giving to the aforementioned loved ones.

Belle doesn’t really understand all the traditions, and that makes things a little awkward since everyone else takes them for granted. Belle has vague recollections of hearing some Christmas carols during her time in the asylum, but nothing more specific than that. There are times when it is really difficult to be twenty-eight years behind the curve.

Rumplestiltskin is considerably less help than Ruby on the subject of Christmas. He mutters something under his breath about extended holiday hours, no interest layaway and those damn carolers. Ruby calls him ‘Scrooge’ and sticks her tongue out at him, which he ignores. 

As far as Belle can tell, Rumplestiltskin has never celebrated Christmas and he doesn’t seem to have any intention of starting. At least until she frowns at him. And then he backpedals and tells her he would be honored to spend Christmas with her - though she suspects that he’d say the same thing about any Tuesday.

Belle is determined to carve out a life for herself in Storybrooke. Ignorance is no excuse for not participating in such an important tradition. Using cookies and eggnog, she bribes Leroy to get a tree for the library - a Balsam fir, of course. Ruby, Mary-Margaret and Henry are kind enough to help her trim the tree and hang garland on the circulation desk and a few of the shelves. Belle downloads Christmas songs onto her iPod (that thing is magic, she doesn’t care what anyone says) and plays them as she writes out Christmas cards. She sends a carefully worded card to her father, though she still has yet to see him since the incident in the mine. He is her father, after all. Even though she’s still upset, she loves him. That will never change. And if Belle has gleaned anything from Ruby’s lessons on Christmas, it is that the holiday season is a time for family - and hers is certainly in short supply these days.

Henry, kind soul that he is, takes it upon himself to educate Belle in the ways of Christmas with an enthusiasm even Ruby couldn’t touch. His method for education is tiered and consists first of DVDs, second of children’s books and lastly of various icing-slathered baked goods. Belle humors him on the first, is charmed by the second and wholeheartedly approves of the third. 

In her spare time, Belle researches Christmas amidst the many books in the library. Charles Dickens is considerably more helpful than Henry’s stop animation movies, though Belle does think that Dickens’s characters find redemption a bit too easily for her taste. Real life, she knows, is never so tidy, regardless of how much she might wish otherwise.

“Well, you certainly have whipped this place into shape.”

“Oh, Granny,” Belle says brightly, looking up from her book. “Thank you so much for coming over.”

Granny looks around the library, obviously impressed. “My, you outdid yourself, especially considering this is your first Christmas.”

Belle smiles, taking pride in how festive the library looks. “Well, I tried.”

“You did more than try,” Granny says sagely. “You succeeded. And the scent from the pine tree covers the roasted dragon stench quite nicely.”

Belle beams and steps out from behind the circulation desk to lead Granny to one of the couches along the wall. They both sit down and Granny digs through the canvas bag she brought, taking out balls of yarn and a variety of knitting needles.

“You’ve really never tried this?” Granny asks.

Belle shakes her head. “I failed at embroidery for a while, but I was so hopeless my governess never attempted anything beyond that.”

Granny nods and then narrows her eyes at Belle. “And why aren’t you asking _him_ for help? I never took ‘The Spinner’ to be a meaningless nickname.”

Belle smiles, fondly remembering the long afternoons with Rumplestiltskin in the Dark Castle. “No, it’s not a meaningless nickname,” she says. “But since I want to make a present for him, it would really ruin the surprise to ask him to show me.”

“I sort of doubt that,” Granny says, setting the bag aside and picking up the yarn. “I suspect that he’d never consider the idea that someone was making him a present. I doubt Mr. Gold has ever received a Christmas present. Doubt the Dark One ever got any presents either. At least not the kind of present anyone would actually want to receive.”

Belle purses her lips together in a tight frown. Granny is undoubtedly right about Mr. Gold and the Dark One. Rumplestiltskin, however, is probably a different story. Belle knows he had happy years with his son, Baelfire. They were poor, according to his own words. But she suspects that even in the leanest times, there were presents - gifts from the heart. It’s not that he’s incapable of love, merely that he’s woefully out of practice.

“That’s probably true,” Belle says to Granny, unwilling to betray any of Rumplestiltskin’s confidences. She forces a smile. “All the more reason for me to try and make this Christmas special.”

Granny sets the yarn and needles in her lap and looks at Belle, her eyes soft with compassion. “You’re good for him, you know,” she says. Then she sighs and points a finger at Belle. “He’s bad for you. But you’re good for him. Better than he deserves. Probably too good.”

Belle gives Granny a lopsided smile. “There’s no such thing as too good.”

“Oh yes there certainly is,” Granny says. She sighs deeply. “At least it seems like Mr. Gold has the sense to appreciate what he’s got.”

Belle nods and then admits, “It did take him a while.”

“Of course it did,” Granny says, concentrating once again on the yarn and the needles. “He’s a man.”

Belle chuckles and takes the proffered knitting needles. 

The afternoon spent with Granny is considerably more productive than many spend with her governess, Miss Harker. Not that Belle feels particularly adept at knitting. Three hours of work and she has something that vaguely resembles a lopsided potholder with more than a few dropped stitches. 

Granny seems undaunted by Belle’s first showing and proclaims that she’ll be knitting sweaters by next Christmas. Belle isn’t convinced, but she very much appreciates Granny’s patience and enthusiasm. When Granny finally packs up her things and heads back to the diner, Belle dutifully swears to practice every day and promises to stop by the diner on Friday for her next lesson.

***

“I want a poinsettia,” Belle says, hugging Rumplestiltskin’s arm tighter, leaning into him and smiling broadly. They’re hurrying down the sidewalk, finishing up some Christmas shopping. It’s early evening, but the stores are open late, making the most of the holiday spending season. Storybrooke’s main street is brightly decorated with Christmas lights and garland and Belle is enamored of how everything twinkles.

Rumplestiltskin frowns, looking rather like a wet cat. “You can get a poinsettia at the grocery store,” he points out sullenly.

“It’s not the same,” she says, quickening her pace, forcing him to move faster. “Those poinsettias look sad.”

He sighs and slows, forcing her to stop in the middle of the sidewalk. He takes both of her hands in his own and looks at her. Reluctantly, she meets his eyes. “Belle,” he says, his tone halfway between pleading and preaching, “the man tried to erase your memory.”

She ducks her head, pursing her lips together. “I know,” she admits quietly. She looks up, meeting his gaze. “But he’s my father. And it’s Christmas.”

He looks at her and she knows that even he can’t fault the logic of a father doing what he feels is necessary to keep his child safe. At least not now that the heat of the moment has passed and she is safe in his arms.

“Look,” she says gently, squeezing his hands, “I’m inviting him for cookies and eggnog at the library on Christmas eve. I’m not inviting him to run my life. He doesn’t get a say in that.” 

The subtext is clear. _Yes, my father hates you. He will probably always hate you. And you did beat him half to death with your cane for something he didn’t do. But you both love me so you’re going to have to figure out how to be in the same room together without killing each other._

She smiles at him and he sighs in resignation, dutifully keeping pace as she resumes her trek down the sidewalk toward Game of Thorns.

***

“A scarf?” Granny says, arching an eyebrow. “Really? With the rent he charges, Mr. Gold can’t afford a scarf?”

Belle snorts, her nose wrinkling with mirth. “Of course he can afford a scarf,” she says. “But a scarf if more personal than a potholder. And really, despite what you say, that’s about all my knitting skills are up to.”

Granny looks skeptical, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, but she shrugs and starts showing Belle how to knit a scarf.

***

“Just relax,” Rumplestiltskin says, running his hands up and down Belle’s arms, “everything is going to be fine.”

Belle smiles at him, but glances around the library one last time. There are no more preparations to make, but Belle is finding it impossible to relax. Just as she heads to the tree to adjust the star one last time, the library door opens and Henry bounds through, leading the family that Rumplestiltskin privately refers to as “the Charmings”, Emma Swan, David Nolan and Mary-Margaret Blanchard. Belle doesn’t know Emma and Mary-Margaret well, but they seem lovely. Well, Mary-Margaret seems lovely and kind and very welcoming. Emma seems a little aggressive, but Belle doesn’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing.

The library door barely has time to close before Ruby and Granny open it again. While Mary-Margaret and Ruby hug, Granny heads directly for Belle and gives her hand a squeeze. “It looks lovely, dear,” she says, glancing around the library. Then she pointedly looks over at Rumplestiltskin and frowns. 

Belle glances over her shoulder at him and finds him at least trying to give a general approximation of a smile. She can tell he’s biting his tongue in the process. All that matters is that he tries, she reminds herself. Baby steps. She watches as Emma walks over to where he stands near the circulation desk and they strike up a conversation that doesn’t appear to be completely adversarial.

“Everything looks great, Belle.”

Belle turns and beams at Leroy. “Oh, thank you,” she says, giving him a hug. She can practically feel Rumplestiltskin glaring at her back, but she ignores him. “You deserve so much of the credit. I wouldn’t have a tree if it wasn’t for you.”

Belle chats with Leroy, his date, Astrid, and Granny for several minutes. Ruby eventually wanders over and they all converse easily for a long time. Leroy and Astrid finally break away, heading for David and Mary-Margaret and Granny goes in search of brandy for the eggnog. 

Belle turns to say something to Ruby when Emma walks up and gives Belle a pointed look. “ _So_ ,” Emma says, nodding, “Henry tells me, you and, uh, Gold?”

Belle smiles a little awkwardly. She hasn’t really had much interaction with the sheriff. “Yes,” she says, nodding. “Me and … Mr. Gold.”

Emma smiles broadly, shaking her head. “Do you call him Mr. Gold?”

Belle laughs, a bit uneasy, but also relieved by Emma’s bluntness. “No. I call him Rumplestiltskin.” She nods. “Because that’s his name.”

“Hell of a name,” Emma says, eyebrows raised.

“Rumple for short,” Belle offers.

Emma nods again and then shakes her head. “So, uh, how long have you two been together?” It’s clear that she can’t wrap her mind around the idea of the man she knows as Mr. Gold having a love life. Not that Belle blames her. She knows most people in Storybrooke can’t imagine it. Sometimes that includes Rumple himself.

Belle’s brow furrows. “Which time?” she asks.

Emma frowns. “You’ve been together with Rumplestiltskin more than once?”

“Several times, actually,” Belle says. “Most recently we’ve been dating for about six weeks.”

Emma arches an eyebrow. “And before that?”

Belle chuckles, rather amused with the impromptu interrogation. She has to admit, Emma Swan is probably a more competent sheriff than David. “Uh, before that, I lived with him for a couple of weeks right after the curse was broken.”

Emma shakes her head. “So where were you during the curse?”

“Locked up in an asylum in the basement of the hospital,” Belle says matter of factly. 

“ _Damn_ ,” Emma says, eyes wide. “For twenty-eight years?”

Belle nods. “Regina locked me up.”

Emma’s face lights up. “ _Oh_ , so that’s why Gold was trying to kill her that night.”

“Yes,” Belle says tightly. “That’s why.”

Emma shifts her weight, cocking one hip out. “So you knew him from before, then. From …” She wiggles her fingers and frowns. “You know …”

“The Enchanted Forest?” Belle offers with a smile. She nods. “Yes. I knew him from the Enchanted Forest. We made a deal.”

“He stole her, plain and simple. Like the monster he is.”

Belle winces and turns to face her father. “ _Papa_ ,” she says with feigned cheer. How did she miss his arrival? “If you’ll recall, I made a deal with Rumplestiltskin. I agreed to go with him in exchange for him saving our village from ogres.”

Moe frowns at his daughter and then glares at Rumplestiltskin, but doesn’t argue.

“Go with him?” Emma asks loud enough for Rumplestiltskin to hear, clearly intrigued. “For what?”

Belle smiles tightly. While she doesn’t have any problem explaining her relationship, she knows that Rumpelstiltskin is not nearly so forthcoming. She knows he’d rather have dental surgery than allow this conversation to proceed. She looks over at him and he once again looks about as happy as a wet cat. But he hasn’t left and he hasn’t tried to drag her away, so that seems like some progress. She told him that people merely needed time to get to know him. Maybe this is an opportunity.

Belle shakes her head. “For nothing, really,” she says with a small smile. “He was lonely, I think. He wanted someone to talk to.”

“ _Really_?” Emma asks, clearly unconvinced. She swivels around to look at Rumplestiltskin suspiciously. 

He stands there, smiling mirthlessly, saying nothing.

“Really,” Belle says firmly. She turns to her father, gently grasping his hand. He looks down at her, meeting her gaze. “He was good to me, Papa.”

Moe frowns sullenly. “He stole you away from your family.”

Belle shakes her head. “He gave me a choice and an opportunity to be brave. I took it. I left.” As soon as she says, it Belle realizes that’s it. That’s the rub. She left. She left her father. For Rumplestiltskin. “Oh, Papa,” she says, trying to pull him closer.

He takes a step back, pulling his hand out of her grasp. It stings, but she lets him go.

The rest of the evening is pretty much a jumble to Belle. She’s aware of Rumplestiltskin parking himself at her side and staying there for the rest of the night, impervious to Emma’s speculative glances and occasional bold questions. Her father leaves without even trying a cookie. Or saying goodbye.

Belle smiles and chats, but inside she’s crushed. By the time everyone has taken their leave, she’s mentally and emotionally exhausted. She doesn’t argue as Rumplestiltskin leads her back to the little apartment and tucks them both into bed, curling her protectively against himself.

***

“You couldn’t sleep,” he says, taking a seat next to her on the couch in the library. It’s just after two in the morning and while the mice may be asleep, Belle is definitely stirring. It should be an iconic Christmas scene, everything quiet, snow falling softly outside, the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree providing gentle light and her love at her side. Instead, it’s all rather ruined by her grim mood.

Despite her low spirits, Belle smiles as she takes in what Rumplestiltskin is wearing, a pair of pajama pants and a white undershirt. She loves that she gets to see him like this when no one else does. Rumple all rumpled. It always melts her heart.

“No,” she says, pulling the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. Her nightgown, while beautiful, is not particularly warm. “I need to finish this present, but I’ve just made a mess of the whole thing.”

He looks at the knitting needles and yarn she holds in her lap. He cocks his head to the side, frowning. “Uh, may I - “

She hands him the yarn and knitting needles and he takes them gladly, studying them with the same concentration she’s seen him give his magics. He removes the knitting needles and pulls out several rows of stitches before threading the needle through the stitches again.

“So, this is …” He lets it hang there in the air.

“A scarf,” she says, crestfallen.

“I know,” he says quickly, placating. “I know. I just wanted to double check.”

“What else would it be?” she asks, trying not to cry.

His face lights up. “A potholder,” he says, latching onto the idea. “It could be a potholder.” He looks down at her sad attempt. “For irregularly shaped pots.”

She smiles in spite of herself. He’s such a bad liar, which makes no sense considering how much practice he’s had. “It’s supposed to be a scarf,” she says.

“All right,” he says, nodding. He reaches over and pats her on the leg before threading the yarn through his fingers again.

She watches as he deftly maneuvers the needles and yarn, completing in half an hour what would have taken her weeks. He holds out what he has finished for her approval. There is a visible line of demarcation between where her work ends and his begins, his stitches being eminently neater. 

She fingers the scarf gently, giving him a watery smile. “It’s beautiful,” she says, sniffling. 

She watches him resume his work, marveling as the lines on his face relax as he loses himself in the task. He looks very much like he does when he’s spinning. 

“You’re very good at that,” she says softly.

“You’d be surprised what you can master,” he says absently, concentrating on his task, “when it’s the difference between having food and watching your child starve to death.”

Belle sits there, watching him work, thinking about all the things parents do for their children. She sobs and Rumplestiltskin puts down the knitting, cursing under his breath. He pulls her into his arms and she goes willingly, wrapping herself around him.

“I abandoned my father,” she sobs.

“You didn’t abandon him,” Rumplestiltskin says gently, stroking her hair. “You left in order to save your village.”

She pulls back far enough to look at him. “Would you truly have let the ogres destroy my village if I hadn’t gone with you?”

He raises his eyebrows, but says nothing.

“ _Rumplestiltskin_.”

He frowns. “Yes,” he says flatly, soberly. “I would have.”

Her shoulders slump. “Why am I even shocked by that?” she asks sadly.

“How did I get in trouble?” he asks, more hurt than indignant. “I was finishing your Christmas present and trying to console you about your father and now I’m the one in trouble.”

She looks at the scarf he’s working on and sobs again. “You shouldn’t have to fix this for me,” she says. “I should do it.”

He shakes his head, pulling her close again. “Why does it matter if I help you with this?”

“Because it’s for you,” she says, her bottom lip quivering.

He looks at the scarf and then back up at her. “You - “ He stops and takes a breath, his eyes suspiciously shiny. “You were making me a Christmas present?”

“Of course I was making you a Christmas present,” she says quietly. “Well, trying. Mostly failing.”

“Oh, Belle,” he says in a near whisper. “You didn’t have to make me anything, sweetheart.”

She looks at him and her already broken heart breaks just a little bit more. She reaches up, cupping his face in her hands. “But that’s the point of Christmas, Rumplestiltskin,” she says. “To be with the people you love. To show them that you love them.”

He doesn’t say anything and she knows it’s because he doesn’t trust himself to speak. Instead, he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to her lips. She returns the kiss, putting all the love she feels for him in her heart into it. 

She finally pulls away and then presses her forehead to his. If they were still in the Enchanted Forest, there is no doubt in her mind that he wouldn’t be an imp after that kiss. 

Perhaps that’s the real lesson of her first Christmas in Storybrooke. Her life isn’t perfect, but it’s real and it’s hers. And next year, maybe her father will actually stay for cookies. And maybe she’ll actually be able to knit something for Rumplestiltskin without him having to help her. But either way, these traditions are real and they are hers.

***  
END STORY

**Author's Note:**

>  **NOTES:** I apologize for the obvious lack of knowledge re: knitting. I watched a lot of YouTube tutorials, but I’m still not at all sure that my descriptions work for someone who actually knows how to knit.  
>  **NOTES2** : And I apologize for total lack of beta on this story. I procrastinated for far too long, so any and all mistakes and general mediocrity are all mine.


End file.
